Tiger's Christmas Bride

Chapter 1: Crash in the Snow The windshield wipers screech against the ice, useless in this blizzard. My old Honda Civic shudders as I grip the steering wheel, squinting through the snow pelting the glass. It’s Christmas Eve, 2025, and I’m lost in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, the creepiest place to be stranded. The GPS died an hour ago, and my phone’s got no bars. Just me, a dead-end house call for a client who didn’t show, and a storm that’s trying to bury me alive. “Great job, Violet,” I mutter, my breath fogging the air. “Take the holiday shift. Make extra cash. End up in a ditch.” The road’s a white blur, pines looming like silent giants in the fog. I’m shivering in my thin jacket, the heater wheezing its last breath. My fingers are numb, and my head’s pounding from the stress of driving blind. All I wanted was a quiet Christmas, maybe some hot chocolate and a cheesy rom-com on my couch in Maccon City. Instead, I’m in the middle of nowhere, chasing a paycheck. A deer darts across the road, eyes glinting in my headlights. I swerve, heart slamming against my ribs. The car fishtails, tires skidding on black ice. “No, no, no!” I yell, yanking the wheel. Too late. The world spins, a sickening crunch as the car slams into a tree. Pain explodes in my forehead, and everything goes black. --- I wake to cold seeping into my bones, my head throbbing like someone’s hammering nails into it. Blood trickles down my cheek, warm and sticky. The dashboard’s cracked, the windshield spiderwebbed. Snow’s piling up outside, and the engine’s dead. I fumble for my phone—still no signal. Panic claws at my chest. I’m alone, hurt, and freezing. “Okay, Violet, think,” I whisper, my voice shaky. “You’ve got this.” But I don’t. I’m no survivalist. I’m a medical billing clerk who’s good with spreadsheets, not blizzards. I try the door, but it’s jammed. The window’s my only shot. I grab my scarf, wrap it around my hand, and punch the glass. It cracks but doesn’t give. “Come on!” I hit harder, desperation fueling me. Nothing. A low growl rumbles outside, deep and guttural. My heart stops. That’s not the wind. I freeze, straining to hear over the storm. Another growl, closer, vibrating through the metal of the car. My breath catches as I peer through the frosted window. Something moves in the snow—a shadow, huge and sleek, with eyes like burning gold. “Oh, hell no,” I whisper, my voice barely a squeak. Bears? Wolves? I don’t know what lives in the Pine Barrens, but I’m not sticking around to find out. I slam my shoulder against the door, pain shooting through my arm. It budges an inch. I try again, grunting, when the shadow moves closer. It’s massive, pacing, its breath steaming in the air. Then, a man’s voice cuts through the storm, low and commanding. “Hold on, I’ve got you.” I blink, disoriented. The shadow’s gone, replaced by a figure at the window. Broad shoulders, dark hair dusted with snow, and those same golden eyes, now human but no less intense. He yanks the door open with a strength that shouldn’t be possible, metal groaning. Before I can scream, he’s leaning in, his face inches from mine. He’s gorgeous—rugged jaw, sharp cheekbones, a scar slicing through one eyebrow—but those eyes hold something wild. “You’re hurt,” he says, voice like gravel and whiskey. “I’m getting you out.” “Who—who are you?” I stammer, my head spinning. Blood’s still dripping, and I’m woozy. “Dean. Local. Saw your crash.” He doesn’t elaborate, just slides an arm under my knees and another behind my back. “Don’t fight me. You’ll freeze out here.” I want to argue, but my vision blurs, and his warmth is the only thing keeping me from shaking apart. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me through the snow. The storm howls, but his steps are sure, cutting through the pines like he knows every inch of this forest. I catch a whiff of him—pine, leather, something primal that makes my pulse race despite the pain. “Where are we going?” I mumble, my cheek against his chest. His heart’s a steady thump, calming my panic. “My place. Close by. You need heat and a bandage.” His tone’s clipped, but there’s a softness under it, like he’s trying not to scare me. I want to ask more, but my head’s too heavy. The last thing I see before I pass out again is his jaw tightening, his eyes scanning the trees like he’s expecting something to leap out. --- I wake to the crackle of a fire and the smell of cedar. I’m on a couch, wrapped in a thick blanket, my head bandaged. The room’s all sleek wood and glass, a modern cabin that screams money. A massive fireplace glows, casting shadows on the walls. My boots are off, my jacket draped over a chair. My head still aches, but I’m alive. Barely. “You’re awake.” That same gravelly voice. Dean’s in an armchair across from me, elbows on his knees, watching me like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. He’s in a black sweater and jeans, his dark hair damp from the snow. Those golden eyes lock onto mine, and I swear they flicker, like a cat’s in the dark. “Yeah, barely,” I say, sitting up slowly. My voice is hoarse, and I wince as I touch the bandage. “You patched me up?” “Had to. You were bleeding all over my car.” He smirks, but it’s tight, like he’s holding something back. “Your car?” I frown. “I don’t remember—” “You were out cold. Carried you here.” He leans back, crossing his arms. Muscles flex under the sweater, and I hate how my stomach flips. This guy’s a stranger, Violet. Get it together. “Thanks, I guess.” I glance around, uneasy. The cabin’s too perfect, like a magazine spread. “Where exactly is ‘here’?” “Pine Barrens. My cabin. You’re safe.” His tone’s firm, but his eyes dart to the window, where snow’s still falling hard. “Safe from what? The storm?” I narrow my eyes. “Or that thing I heard out there?” He stiffens, just for a second, but I catch it. “Probably a coyote. They’re loud in storms.” “Coyote, my ass,” I snap, my nerves fraying. “That sounded like it wanted to eat me.” He chuckles, low and warm, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re feisty for someone who just smashed her car into a tree.” I glare, but my lips twitch. “And you’re dodgy for a guy who claims he’s just a ‘local.’ Nobody lives out here unless they’re hiding from something.” His smirk falters, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. He stands, moving to the fire, poking it with an iron. “You ask a lot of questions, Violet.” “How do you know my name?” My heart skips. I didn’t tell him that. “Your wallet. Checked it for ID.” He doesn’t turn, but his shoulders tense. “You’re from Maccon City. Medical billing. Not exactly a wilderness girl.” I flush, feeling exposed. “Yeah, well, I was working. Holiday shifts pay double. Not that it matters now, since my car’s probably a snow-covered pancake.” He turns, his expression softer. “You’ll be fine here till the storm clears. Got food, heat, even hot chocolate if you’re nice.” I raise an eyebrow, ignoring the flutter in my chest. “Hot chocolate? You trying to bribe me into not asking questions?” “Is it working?” His grin’s back, and damn, it’s disarming. “Maybe.” I pull the blanket tighter, my head still fuzzy. “Look, Dean, I appreciate the save, but I need to know what’s going on. That growl wasn’t a coyote, and you’re not just some guy with a cabin. Spill it.” He hesitates, then sits on the coffee table, close enough that I can feel his warmth. “You’re right. I’m not just some guy. But you need to rest before we get into it. You’ve got a concussion, and I’m not explaining anything to a fainting woman.” “I don’t faint,” I lie, glaring. “And I’m not some damsel. Tell me what’s out there.” He leans closer, eyes intense. “You want the truth? It’s complicated. And it’s dangerous. You’re not ready for it.” “Try me,” I shoot back, my pulse racing. His stare’s doing things to me I don’t want to admit. Before he can answer, a sharp scratching sound cuts through the room, like nails on glass. I jump, my heart in my throat. Dean’s head snaps toward the window, his body coiled like a spring. The firelight catches his eyes, and for a split second, they glow—actually glow—bright gold. “What the hell was that?” I whisper, clutching the blanket. “Stay here,” he growls, standing. His voice is different, deeper, almost animalistic. He grabs a flashlight from the mantle and heads for the door. “You’re not going out there!” I hiss, panic rising. “Something’s trying to get in!” “I’ll handle it.” He glances back, his expression unreadable. “Lock the door behind me.” “Dean, wait—” But he’s already out, the door slamming shut. I stumble to my feet, head spinning, and flip the deadbolt. My hands shake as I peer through the window, the snow a white curtain. I can’t see him, but another sound—louder, closer, like a snarl mixed with a scream—rips through the night. It’s not human. It’s not even close. I back away, my breath hitching, and trip over the coffee table, landing hard. The fire crackles, but the room feels colder, like something’s watching. Then I see it—outside the window, a pair of glowing red eyes, locked on me, unblinking in the storm. My scream catches in my throat as the glass rattles, and I know, deep in my gut, that whatever’s out there with Dean isn’t just an animal. It’s something worse. And it’s coming for me.